


poison tree

by Ro29



Series: Messing around in the Soft Wars Sandbox [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Feels, Edee Feels, Family Feels, Gen, Humor, Introspection, Jango loves his son, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parents are complicated, and so are emotions, brothers being brothers, but is a bit of an asshole, theres a lot of that actually whoops
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:22:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26999608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ro29/pseuds/Ro29
Summary: A custody arrangement is made, it is not made easily.
Relationships: CC-1010 | Fox/CC-6454 | Ponds, Squad Edee (Soft Wars) & Boba Fett
Series: Messing around in the Soft Wars Sandbox [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1937752
Comments: 13
Kudos: 168
Collections: Open Source Soft Wars





	1. Gree

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Project0506](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Project0506/gifts), [SailorSol](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorSol/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Five Blankets (And One Nap)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24872899) by [Project0506](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Project0506/pseuds/Project0506). 
  * Inspired by [With Each Revision, Improve](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26114578) by [Project0506](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Project0506/pseuds/Project0506). 



> This one isn't even my fault this time okay, or Sol's surprisingly enough. Sol just enabled until I picked up the idea XD. The blame for this one is _entirely_ on Projie.
> 
> So, thanks to Projie for letting me play in the sandbox and also for throwing the idea out. And thanks to the both of them for poking me into writing it!

Gree watches as Colt taps at a weak spot in the kid’s guard.

The kid is good, great, even. But he thinks _too_ much. Focuses in on, and then over thinks, the little things. It’s something Gree used to do, still does sometimes.

The kid huffs, adjusts, and Colt nods.

“Again.”

The kid waits for Colt to make the first move, ducks into the feint, away from the kick.

It takes a full three minutes this time, before Colt has the kid pinned.

It’s impressive, but the kid is scowling.

Boba, Gree has learned, holds himself to only the highest of expectations. How much of that is because of the Prime and how he taught the kid and how much of that comes from knowing he was just one of many, Gree will never know.

What he _does_ know is that Fox has that same viciously pleased look in his eyes that comes just before he fucks with someone.

Gree snorts and Colt sends a long, suspicious, look their way.

Fox dawns the perfectly polite face he only ever uses when he’s lying his ass off. Gree bites at his cheek.

The kid huffs again, and Colt turns back to him, and glances at the time. “One more.”

The kid nods, falls into a ready stance.

Fox leans back against the wall, grins, “Colt’s adopting another fucking kid already.”

Gree’s lip twitches up.

“You’d think,” he mutters as he twists the puzzle cube in his hands around, “that with the amount of cadets Rancor adopted he’d be content.”

Fox snorts, “The little fucker _is_ good though. Needs to stop fucking overthinking, but he’s good.”

Gree doesn’t pause in solving the puzzle cube, but he flicks his eyes up.

“Oh?” he asks, watching, _watching_ , because that almost sounded like—

Fox scowls at him, raises an eyebrow, “You disagree?”

Gree bites his cheek, doesn’t grin. “No, kid’s smart, just didn’t expect you to say so.”

Fox rolls his eyes, looks away, refocuses on where the kid is trying to run a rush-retreat on Colt to wear him down. Colt’s face is blank, but Gree can see his amusement in the way he narrows his eyes, tilts his head.

Gree hums, “You know, if you adopt him too that means we have to make him Edee’s right? If we left just you and Colt to it, Neyo would never let you live it down.”

Fox rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t deny it. Shrugs his shoulders, “Prime should’ve made sure the little fuck was safe, he fucking _didn’t_ which makes it our fucking job.”

Fox has never forgiven Jango for making Priest a trainer.

Fox has never forgiven Jango for a lot of things, or for most of the trainers he brought in, but that one is personal. And Fox holds grudges better than most people Gree knows, will rip you to pieces and lash out at the smallest sign of a threat.

Ironic, that the reason Fox is so willing to fight Fett is the same thing that made him so vicious.

(After Priest took Neyo, Fox sharpened his teeth on that pain and guilt and anger and turned it outwards, Edee closed ranks and Fox was vicious in his defense of them.)

Gree hums, clicks another three pieces into place in rapid succession. The kid grunts, Gree flicks his gaze back up, watches the way the kid goes for a nerve strike, sees the moment Colt’s feigned distraction gives way to action. The kid goes down, rolls with it, ducks under and slips a quick strike to Colt’s side.

“You have a point.” he allows, because giving Fox more than that is begging for mocking.

The kid is little still, despite being one of the oldest of them. There is, Gree allows himself to think, the slightest bit of bitterness for that. It’s not something they can help, any of them.

They don’t fault the kid for it, not really. But it’s hard, sometimes, not to wish they got the chance he did. To wish that they could have given their brothers that chance.

It’s a useless wish, and Gree knows none of them would have ever taken that chance from the kid, none of them would have ripped the happiness he got to have away. But, it colours their interactions sometimes, a _tension_ that lurks just underneath it all.

Gree checks the crono as he flicks the final piece into place and sets the cube down. The kid’s lasting longer this time, tired but driven.

He’s a good kid, Boba is, sharp and kind and just this side of too stubborn.

Fox shifts, smiles like he’s a wide-eyed cadet and not Gree’s asshole of a brother. Snatches the finished puzzle cube away and passes Gree a more complex puzzle cube. It has more twists and shifting pieces and is also, _completely coincidentally,_ a glaring neon yellow, orange, pastel pink mix of colours.

Gree raises an eyebrow, and when Fox just smiles wider, rolls his eyes and takes the atrocious thing.

There’s a grunt and an “oof” as Boba goes down, kicking out to try and get purchase to slip out from under where Colt has him pinned. The count off hits five and Boba groans.

Gree looks down from the hideously bright cube up to Fox and snorts. “Distracting.” he observes.

Fox shrugs, “Kid needs to stop fucking honing in on shiny things that distract him and focus on the threat that's right fucking there.”

Gree hums, watches Colt run the kid through a cooldown.

“He does,” He allows, as he switches a bright green piece over to the opposite side of the cube, twists a pink one, slots it beside the orange and yellow ones, carefully doesn’t make a face at the combination. Fox, it seems, purposefully made sure the pattern didn't match up with the colours, how….. _interesting_.

Fox watches whatever expression Gree can’t _quite_ keep off of his face with a smirk. Gree huffs, flicks him in the side and bumps his foot against Fox’s ankle. Fox settles back with a perfectly even expression and Gree suppresses a grin.

“Does this mean he’s Green's now?” he asks, innocent and off-handed, “Because you know Fox, I think Barriss will really like having another sib— _osik.”_

He cuts himself off with a hissed curse as Fox leans over, digging his fingers into Gree’s side unrepentantly with a _vicious_ twist.

Fox gives one more pointed jab, glaring at him with the fury of an overprotective and territorial tooka. “Shut your fucking mouth, as if I’d let _Green_ have him.”

The disgust in his tone is almost comical. Gree isn’t offended, it’s not a dig at Wave specifically, just towards the idea of any company that didn’t include Fox getting Boba.

“And who put _you_ in charge of him?” he asks with a grin, twists another piece of the cube in his hands, watches as another part of the awful thing comes together.

Fox rolls his eyes, “Ponds.”

Gree blinks, narrows his eyes, “And yet, you’re teasing Colt for adopting him?”

Fox glares, shifts, jabs his elbow into Gree’s side. “Ponds is the one who wanted to keep the fucking kid and Colt is the one who looks a step away from fucking adopting him. I’m involved in neither of these plots.”

Gree hums, thoroughly unconvinced. Fox scowls, crosses his arms and leans back against the bench behind him, “I’m just keeping the fucking kid away from anymore shit influences.”

Gree snorts, “Course.”

Fox hears the sarcasm, ignores it with a roll of his eyes and Gree keeps his expression perfectly even as he speaks, “Does this mean that _you’re_ the one getting another kid then? Because I suppose if you are I need to apologize to Colt.”

There’s a beat before Fox answers, “He gets along well with the other strays.”

That’s a yes then.

Gree suppresses a grin, “I guess I have to apologize to Colt later.”

Fox scowls, eyes drifting back to where the kid is listening to Colt.

Gree watches it, turns his attention back to the puzzle cube, turns the pieces as he rolls the question he doesn’t want to ask around his tongue.

It sticks in his throat, rattles in his chest and sits in the back of his head, picks at him.

Boba is the only one Jango will claim as his, the only one he claims as _ad_ , as his son.

For all of Jango’s faults—for all the ways he’s been the starting point in one way or the other for a lot of the different hurts the _vode_ carry; for all the ways he might have hurt his kid with his standards and insistence only Boba is his; for all the ways Jango clings to the idea that Boba isn’t like the rest of the _vode_ despite all of their similarities _;_ for all that Gree doesn’t think that anyone could claim Jango follows the path of _manda_ anymore—he has always been fiercely protective of Boba.

_So what_ , Gree thinks, as more of the pattern clicks together on the cube, as Boba and Colt begin walking over, _will he do when he finds his son here again._

He doesn’t ask, he twists another piece into place, nudges Fox with his foot.

(He doesn’t ask, just like he doesn’t ask what Fox would do in retaliation.)

He doesn’t speak it into existence, but he thinks, and he wonders.

Boba is smiling, it’s not big, not obvious, but it’s there and it makes him look so much younger than he already does.

Fox moves to meet Boba and Gree slips the puzzle cube into his belt pocket. Meets Colt's eyes.

_Fox’s, likely_ , he signs to Colt, when Fox is busy poking the kid about getting distracted by the atrocity he gave Gree, carefully reorienting the conversation when it looks like the prickle the kid gives is more upset then annoyance.

(Fox has always been quick to adapt, whether it was to loss or to change.)

The kid relaxes, cautious and hopeful and Colt looks to Gree, raises an eyebrow. Gree hums, tilts his head in acquiesce, corrects himself with a quick, _Fox’s_ , _declarative_.

Colt huffs, bleeds out amusement from every line of his body. Gree lets the silence grow deliberately and then flicks an, _Edee_ ’ _s, declarative._

Colt considers, watches the way the kid is scowling, all for show, as Fox talks to him, loses just enough of his hesitance to poke Fox in the side.

_Edee’s, declarative_ , Colt agrees. Though Gree thinks he was already halfway to that conclusion when Boba showed up on Concord Dawn again on a crashing ship, with a bracer cinched small and padded to fit, wanting desperately to be part of this and still wearing the name Fett with pride, with love.

He turns afterward, a deliberate move, to watch as Fox and the kid leave.

They both catch the way Han latches onto the kid and starts to ramble about something or another, the way Boba smiles, all fond, and snorts in amusement.

_Fox’s strays, growing, declarative._ Colt signs, lips quirking as Fox says something that makes Han roll his eyes. Fox flicks the back of his head, and Boba teases Han for it.

It’s nice, it’s wonderful even.

It’s familiar.

Colt doesn’t say anything as Gree reaches across the tiny space between them and lets his fingers flitter along his forearm, drumming and tracing nonsense patterns as he thinks.

“He’s good.” Colt says aloud, quiet, “He fits well with them.”

Colt, Gree realizes, has been rolling the same thoughts along his tongue that he has.

Neither of them are ready to voice them now. Selfishly, Gree hopes they never have to.

(They’ll have to though, soon, Gree knows. After all, Boba was the only one of all of them that the Prime had ever really wanted. The only one he asked for. For that reason, if nothing else, Jango will come. He already has once before.

Gree just hopes for all their sakes that he does not come too soon, not before someone speaks to Boba. Not before they figure something out, not before they find a way to be balanced if they lose this.

It was hard enough the first time.)

Edee, Gree thinks to himself, loves fiercely and privately and with all they are. They are not loud about it, not like the Shebs, not like some of the other squads.

But it’s there, and it clings, and there is a lot of different things that have molded them into who they are today, things that they have weathered both together and alone, things about them that have changed, fundamental facts that are no longer as clear as they once were.

But the thing that shaped them first, molded them young, was loss.

They reacted differently, each of them, but still; the quiet, private, _fierce_ love is there. A little harder to reach, a little more hidden, a little harder to see, but there.

(Gree is grateful for that. He isn’t sure what they would have done, if Priest had torn it out of Neyo like he had tried to, if Fox had lost his to the weight of Coruscanti citizens and Senators and the Chancellor. If Colt’s Jedi was a little less caring, if Colt had to watch more and more brothers be killed for stupid reasons and lost himself trying to keep them all safe.

Gree has lost brothers before and come out of it a little quieter, a little more private, he is glad that he was never put into a position where the weathering away of his caring, of his love, was an option.)

Colt nudges at Gree, draws him out of the spiral of thoughts, he squeezes Colt’s wrist in thanks, drops his hand.

“He does.” he says, belatedly, eyes catching on the flickers of light on their right from Littles playing. Thinks of how fondly put upon Boba had looked with Han. How, for all of Fox’s insistence the Littles were all Pond’s strays, Fox was good with them, seemed a little lighter with them.

Colt shifts and Gree looks away from the lights, catches as Colt tilts his head, watches some of his Rancors play with their Littles with a smile in his eyes. Gree hums, shoves his shoulder against Colt’s. “You know, Commander _Buir_ , I think you should consult your _Jetii_ before you adopt any more of them.”

Colt huffs, digs quick fingers into Gree’s side, “We haven’t adopted any of them.”

Gree snorts, “Yet.”

Colt glares at him, but it’s ruined by the way his eyes brighten whenever one of the Littles laughs. Gree grins, and Colt rolls his eyes.

The tension sits, buried, for now.

Gree leaves Colt to his watch, walks through the groups of Littles having fun, _playing_ and shouting and _laughing_. It still feels like victory.

(He wonders, as he watches them, if Jango would even be able to tell Boba apart from them all.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> osik: shit  
> ad: child (in this context son)  
> vode: brothers (used here to refer to the clones)  
> manda: the state of being Mandalorian, I use it here to refer to following the path to being Mandalorian.  
> buir: parent (in this context father)  
> jetii: jedi


	2. Boba

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Boba knows boils down to simply this; _buir_ has never been able to look any of the _vode_ in the eye for longer than a second, _buir_ loves him and he _chose_ him. And Marshall Commander Cody, _Kote_ , stole the _vode_ away from the Republic and declared them _his_.

It starts like this, Boba is tiny and _buir_ is gone and he is terrified that maybe _buir_ has decided he wasn’t good enough after all, maybe he’s decided that he doesn’t really want a son, or that he just doesn’t want _Boba_ as his son.

It starts with a bigger-younger child with his face and a smile and warm hugs and the ability to make Boba feel better when he twists himself up into knots over the idea of not being good enough for _buir_.

It is not, entirely, a linear story. There is a stutter, a stop, when _buir_ declares Boba old enough to join him on jobs, when _buir_ no longer tolerates the way the clones—who _buir_ has never, in all the time Boba can remember, looked in the eye for longer than a second—let him play with them, climb over them, curl up with and sleep on them, call him _vod_.

It begins again, in a jerkish movement, a story made up of stilted words and phrases and bits cut out of it, information hidden away or missing.

What Boba does know about that part is this, there is a war and there are clones dying and Boba has never been good at ignoring them like _buir_ is. But _buir_ keeps them away from the fighting, keeps them safe. Clones are dying, _buir_ doesn’t care and Boba doesn’t think about it except in especially quiet moments when he overhears _buir_ ’s news holo’s.

And then, suddenly the war is over, the Chancellor is replaced and the clones, the _vode,_ are gone.

Or, not gone. Stolen away. Over three million spirited away to Concord Dawn under the Senate’s nose.

What Boba knows boils down to simply this; _buir_ has never been able to look any of the _vode_ in the eye for longer than a second, _buir_ loves him and he _chose_ him. And Marshall Commander Cody, _Kote_ , stole the _vode_ away from the Republic and declared them _his_.

These, in the end, are really all the things needed to understand how Boba ended up braiding Qi’ra’s hair as Han lays on her lap and glares at the knitting needles and yarn in his hands.

It goes like this, Boba is given armour too big to fill and told to go, and then to come back.

His _buir_ is not.

And Boba, well, Boba has always been selfish. So he takes the forgiveness given, the hands reaching out to support him, steady him, because he has always been greedy when it comes to love, to being loved.

And _buir_ loves him, he does. He tells Boba, over and over, shows him through actions just as often.

It doesn’t stop Boba from doubting it though, from worrying. He’s questioned it, over and over again for years. But he’s starting to understand, just a little, that the ways in which _buir_ ’s hurts have been given form do not mean he doesn’t love Boba, don’t strip the words and actions of their meaning.

It does, however, mean that Boba isn’t sure _buir_ will ever be able to understand just _why_ Boba was so unsure about it for so long.

It is not something Boba has said out loud yet, it feels a little too much like giving up.

“You know, if you sit up you’d probably get more done.” Qi’ra says, poking at Han’s side after the fifth time he drops a stitch and groans.

Han sticks his tongue out at her, sitting up with a huff, “I could’ve done it. Boba thinks so! Right?”

Boba looks up from Qi’ra’s hair and raises an eyebrow.

Han huffs, “Rude.” Qi’ra shakes with giggles and Han makes another face at her.

Boba smiles, ties off the braid and lets Qi’ra give a thorough inspection of the evenness of the two braids. She nods, very seriously, and pats Boba’s shoulder, “Good.”

Boba snorts, pokes her in the side and tickles her until she rolls away giggling. There’s a rustle and Boba ducks just as Han throws himself onto his back. He scrabbles for a hold and crows in victory when Boba just rolls his eyes and goes down with as much grace as one can when being tackled by a kid half your size.

“Happy?” He asks.

Han settles and nods, looking _far_ too smug. Boba gives an overexaggerated huff as Qi’ra pops into view, eyes bright and grinning.

“Incandescently” She says decisively, with just the slightest of pauses in between each syllable.

Boba laughs, “Where’d you get that one?”

She grins, bright and proud, “Ponds!”

He snorts, yeah that tracks.

“You’re all pests.” He declares, as Qi’ra joins Han in laying on his back.

He remembers, belatedly, that he hasn’t put his blades back yet from his practice, Qi’ra had snagged him almost immediately after he got through the door to do her hair.

He sighs.

‘ _Pests’_ he thinks to himself, already knowing what he’ll find even as he does a subtle check of his holsters. Feels a distinct lack of weight where one of his blades should be.

‘ _Pests_ ’, he thinks again, infinitely fond. He rolls over, shoves them off his back and sits up, glares at them without heat.

“You already nicked my boot blade, you’re not getting that one too.”

They both look up at him with perfectly, _deceivingly,_ innocent faces.

There’s a snort from behind him and Boba turns to look. Fox is standing in the doorway, arms crossed and expression incredulous.

The two menaces turn their looks of innocence to Fox and Boba bites his lip to keep from laughing.

Fox gives them a look and grumbles, “Fucking Torrents wearing off on you brats.”

Boba keeps quiet, swallows down his snickers and shifts silently, tackles Han while he’s distracted, and snatches his blade back before Qi’ra can grab it from Han.

Fox radiates judgment as he looks at the pile they’ve landed in, “Fucking menaces, the lot of you.”

Han and Qi’ra look to each other at that, laugh, and Boba chuckles at the unamused expression Fox makes.

Qi’ra giggles and sits up, gives Boba’s blade one last calculated look, before sighing. She makes one last valiant attempt at tooka eyes, that Boba is _not_ close to giving in to thank you very much. Before finally giving up for the time being and conceding her defeat.

Boba holds back the snort, just barely, doesn’t try to hide the grin.

Han turns to him next and Boba snorts, “Yeah nice try, she’s better at it than you are.”

Qi’ra preens where she sits on the floor, all smug, and Han groans, “ _Rude_.”

Fox ruffles at Han’s hair as he passes, ignores the squawk Han makes and Qi’ra’s giggle, “He’s right, she’s _much_ better at those fucking sad tooka eyes than you are. You just look like you’re fucking plotting something.”

Han scrunches his face up, flops back down on the ground.

“Dramatic.” Boba accuses him as he stands.

Han huffs, turns on his side. Boba rolls his eyes, sees the time on the crono.

“Isn’t it bedtime for you two?”

There’s a suspicious silence and Fox snorts from where he’s leaning against the side of the kitchen doorway.

The two brats exchange looks and disappear, off to either cause chaos uninterrupted or to get ready for bed.

Equal odds really.

There are little trinkets in this room, Pond’s Boba thinks, because he can’t quite picture Fox owning them for himself. They vary; in size, in shape, different sounds, different beats. Where one flicks side to side, another will rock down, click once on an offbeat and repeat. Not enough to distract, just enough to be a background sound.

Boba suspects there are more in Pond’s and Fox’s room, but they’re scattered throughout the rest of the house as well.

They fill in the silence now. Make Boba feel less on edge. Different enough from the sound of a timer that he doesn’t feel anxious, doesn’t feel the need to blurt out whatever’s in his head.

He lays down, closes his eyes and fights back a yawn. When he opens them again there’s a plate of food and a glass of water in front of him and Fox is sitting next to him. He blinks, slowly, and rubs at his eyes. He sits up, mouth dry and head heavy, drowsy.

Fox knocks his knuckles against Boba’s wrist, “Eat.”

Boba blinks again, can’t hold back a yawn, and nods.

“Thanks, did I—”

“Slept like a fucking tubie.” Fox confirms. There’s amusement there, Boba is pretty sure, lining his eyes and in the way he quirks his lips.

Boba grabs the glass, sips at the water as he checks the crono. He only slept for an hour, but it still feels disorienting.

He shifts, grabs at the food, it’s only once he finishes it that he realizes his blade is missing again.

He sighs, can’t help the smile on his face.

Fox notices, grins with vicious amusement, “Lost another fucking blade then?”

Boba wrinkles his nose, “Most likely, they go to sleep?”

Fox snorts, does a quick ‘ _kot_ ’, “Hide ‘em better next time. Both the brats are in bed, Ponds is coming back from his little blonde shithead’s house in a bit.”

It takes a second, but Boba does manage to place the ‘blonde shithead’ as Rex. He grins, it’s nice, seeing them like this.

( _How_ , he wonders sometimes, _does_ buir _not see them as people when they do things like this? When they goad each other and comfort each other, when they act like a family. Why did it take so long for them to be considered people?_

Then he remembers how he spent years _not_ thinking about it, not thinking about them. Thinks that maybe there were other people doing the same thing.

Ignoring the things that are unpleasant is easier than fixing them.

It’s not a nice train of thought, Boba tries to avoid it. He isn’t always successful.)

Fox stands, kicks lightly at Boba’s foot, “Get some fucking sleep.”

Boba nods, stands, fights another yawn and loses.

His comm beeps, Fox pretends not to look and Boba pretends he doesn’t see the way Fox is poised for attack.

_‘Safe still?’_ it reads.

‘ _Yes_ ’ Boba sends back, doesn’t give more information, doesn’t ask for pickup.

There isn’t another comm, Fox relaxes, Boba fights his disappointment.

They probably need to talk about this. Boba doesn’t know if he wants to yet. Doesn’t want to confront the tensions between _buir_ and the _vode_ , wants to find a way to have both without losing either, without hurting either too badly.

Boba has always been selfish.

Fox snaps his fingers and Boba looks up. He can’t read Fox’s expression, doesn’t know what Fox reads from his. Boba blinks, slow, and fights to keep his eyes open against the drowsiness.

Fox huffs, something fond there that sits warm in Boba’s chest. “Go sleep, brat.”

Boba sticks his tongue out, ignores the snort from behind him, and makes his way to the room they’ve set aside for him.

He sleeps, and the warmth stays with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love them all a lot okay.

**Author's Note:**

> I gave myself so many Boba emotions you guys, _so many_.
> 
> If you want to find me other places I have a [writing tumblr](https://rose-blooms-red.tumblr.com) and a [fandom tumblr](https://themessofthecentury.tumblr.com)
> 
> Please come yell at me about Star Wars and DC!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Plom Blooms in the Duracrete](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28923999) by [Azure_Lynx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azure_Lynx/pseuds/Azure_Lynx)




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